


Ruffles

by ImpulsivelyFicced



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Knotting, M/M, Panties, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek, dom!stiles, knotting the air, sub!derek (hinted at)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 23:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpulsivelyFicced/pseuds/ImpulsivelyFicced
Summary: Derek likes to wear panties, and Stiles likes it when Derek wears panties. Especially after he's had a long day at work.





	Ruffles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyDrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/gifts).



> A technically belated birthday gift for LadyDrace, since I started writing it last year and only managed to finish it this year just in time. 
> 
> Basically what it says on the tin. 10 pages of pretty much unbridled smut.

Derek liked to wear panties under his normal clothes. Six months ago Stiles would have said that was a good thing. It was a good thing. They’d been working up to it or months, and the first time Derek had worn a pair under his jeans when they went out to dinner, Stiles had been so damn proud of him.

 

It wasn’t even for sexy time purposes, although Stiles had of course fucked Derek to with an inch of his sanity as soon as they got back to their apartment, whispering all the ways that Derek was so good and sweet and how much Stiles loved that he was confident in his own skin now. Because Derek deserved every bit of praise and affection and love that Stiles could pour into him.

 

Sometimes Stiles thought Derek liked wearing panties more for general purposes than sexy ones. He’d spent almost ten years being told by what seemed like everyone on the planet that boys didn’t wear lingerie, so Derek had never quite worked up the courage to wear them. He’d only had one pair when they started dating, and Stiles was still pretty sure that Derek never meant for him to find the pale pink cotton panties in the first place.

 

He was doing laundry one day, because they’re just that domestic even though Stiles hasn’t even moved in yet, and they’re just...there. Stiles plucked them out, examining the flimsy looking lace around the waistband. They looked worn, extra worn like they probably should have been thrown out by now. Stiles hadn’t known what to do exactly. The one thought that never crossed his mind was that Derek was cheating on him. Well, it had crossed his mind but he’d also instantly dismissed it. Derek wasn’t the type for starters, and for finishers it just didn’t seem right.

 

But then Derek had come home and acting on years of ‘ _oh shit dad just pulled up and I’m masturbating_ ’ instinct, Stiles shoved the panties into his back pocket. He probably would have tried to sneak them back into the basket, or maybe Derek’s underwear drawer, but life never went as planned.

 

Derek had cooked that night, delegating Stiles to wine duty and pulling the homemade cream puffs from the fridge to slowly warm up. And staring at Derek’s ass as he wandered around in nothing but a pair of Stiles’ BHPD sweatpants and a white tank top. He’s in love, so sue him.

 

It wasn’t until they were curled on the couch later, the last hints of heavy cream shared between them, that things got a little messy. Derek had a propensity for slipping his hands into Stiles’ back pockets, whether he’s using the grip to pull him closer or just to connect them while they stand in a line.

 

And the panties that had been in Stiles’ left hand back pocket have long since been forgotten about. Right up until Derek pulled them out and made the mistake of glancing at them. Derek had gone so stiff that Stiles immediately pulled back to see what was wrong. He’d taken one look at the panties and began to explain.

 

“Shit. Listen, Derek, I’m sorry. They were just in the laundry and I swear I wasn’t snooping, I just pulled them out because I didn’t know why they’d be there but then you came home and I just shoved them out of sight. I don’t even know why I guess it was just my first instinct but look Derek I don’t mind that you have them I mean they must be from a one night stand or something and that’s cool, that’s fine maybe they got left behind. Either way I don’t care but the point is--”  
  


“They’re mine.” Derek had said it so quietly that Stiles didn’t even hear him, just saw his mouth move.

 

“What?” Stiles asked.

 

Derek had stayed quiet, staring at something between Stiles’ arm and ribs. Stiles is just opening his mouth to ask again when Derek grits out, “Jesus Stiles, they’re _mine._ ”

 

“Oh.” Had been all Stiles could muster for a second, his mouth twisted into a shape to match. Stiles had explored some of the weirder corners of the internet since hitting puberty. There hadn’t been much to do when his dad worked overnights and before he got Roscoe. So on a scale of one to ten of weird kinks, guys in panties were only about a five. So it wasn’t that Stiles had to adjust to the thought that Derek liked wearing panties, it was that _holy fucking shit was that a nice image._ And why hadn’t Derek told him before now? That question probably had answers that ended in a capital ‘k’ or a capital ‘j’, and Stiles was not about to make either of them go there.

 

Stiles could tell Derek was pissed and stressed and a little scared too at the same time, but he couldn’t help grinning. “Can I see you in them?”

 

Derek’s head had shot up so fast it gave Stiles a head rush, and he’d hissed, “What?”

 

Once that tone might have made Stiles flinch, but he knew Derek better now.

 

“I want to see you in them.” Stiles had said it slowly and clearly, holding eye contact as he reached for the panties. Derek had pulled them away and stretched his arm out behind him, like a kid playing keep away. So Stiles changed tactics.

 

He grabbed Derek’s empty hand and tried to tug him off the couch. After he almost fell off and realized that he needed to get off Derek’s lap first, Stiles had done so and continued pulling at Derek’s hand. “C’mon Derbear, you’re the one that can tell if I’m lying or not. Don’t make me leverage you over my shoulder. You know I can.”

 

Derek did know, and even though Stiles might not have been able to make it up the stairs, Derek got up anyway.

 

It took until they reached the bedroom for Derek to say anything. “Stiles, listen--” Derek had started, but Stiles spun around on his toes and scowled at him.

 

“No way, Derek. Jesus. God, okay listen.” Stiles had hooked his fingers in the waistband of Derek’s sweats and tugged him closer, suddenly glad they had lost their shirts somewhere between the table and the couch. “First of all, this situation is infinitely better than any of the other ones I’d come up with.”

 

Derek had opened his mouth to interrupt, but Stiles beat him to it. “Because it’s fucking awesome, Derek! Listen,” Stiles had stepped even closer, until their foreheads brushed together and he cupped a hand around the back of Derek’s neck, loving the way that simple touch made his boyfriend relax. “You and I have discovered some amazing things together. And also nearly died like a minimum of a half dozen times. You really think I’m gonna let a little something like a kink get in my way now that shit’s finally calmed down and I get to kiss you whenever I want?” Stiles had grinned. “Especially when it involves my sexy, gorgeous boyfriend wearing pretty things?”

 

Derek had looked so desperate to believe Stiles and he realized that Derek really had thought Stiles might leave. Leaning forward, Stiles had nipped Derek’s throat and pushed him backwards onto the bed. Stiles crawled in between his legs, letting Derek feel the hard press of his cock in his jeans. Stiles had leaned over Derek and kissed him gently, caressing his jaw and neck with his free hand.

 

“You know how fucking hot I think you are.” Stiles had whispered. “Jesus, every single human on the face of the planet probably thinks you’re unfairly attractive.” Derek had snorted and Stiles leaned down to nip him again. “Don’t laugh. My point is, I am going crazy right now thinking about my already _insanely_ gorgeous boyfriend with his pretty cock tenting the front of these panties.” He had plucked the material from Derek’s limp fingers and inspected them again.

 

“Jesus Derek! How long have you had these? The material is so thin they have to be almost see through.” He held up a hand. “Wait. I take that back, that’s a good thing.” Stiles had given Derek an almost pleading look. “Now, will you please put these on for me? I want to see if I can get you to cum without taking them off.”

 

As it had turned out, Stiles absolutely could.

 

 

In the six months since, Stiles had bought as many different styles and patterns as he possibly could for them to experiment with. It was fucking great.

 

And there were days when knowing Derek was probably wearing something lacy or satiny under his clothes was maddening. Like today, for instance.

 

Stiles’ day had been terrible, mostly traffic stops that people tried to argue with him about, some kid that had gotten hopped up on peyote or something and gone streaking through the neighborhood, then tried to deck Stiles before Greenberg managed to tackle him, and a whole bunch of other incidents that had added up to one very long day for Beacon Hills’ finest.

 

He’d been working the early shift too, which meant getting up before Derek went on his morning run. Which also meant no breakfast and barely even a good morning kiss with Derek looking delightfully soft and sleep rumpled. Stiles had honestly considered calling out that day just to sleep in with his boyfriend.

 

So to say that Stiles was in a bit of a bad mood when he got home was an understatement. And seeing Derek leaning shirtless over the kitchen island, the newspaper spread out in front of him while he sipped from the “Alpha Knows Best” mug Stiles had custom made for him for their third anniversary, the first lacey tier of Stiles’ favorite ruffled dark blue panties peeking out over the waistband of a pair of Derek’s unfairly tight jeans, was just the last fucking straw.

 

Stiles bag and gun belt hit the floor with only slightly less of an impact than Stiles cares. Derek takes an extra second to look around, since he’s so used to Stiles’ days ending with that sound. But before he can do much more than glance over his shoulder, Stiles strides up behind Derek and pressed flush against him.

 

“Keep your hands on the counter,” Stiles growls, and Derek knows that voice well. His palms slap the counter nearly hard enough to crack. Derek’s breathe hitches when Stiles whispers in his ear, “Good boy.”

 

Stiles undoes Derek’s pants with efficient fingers and slides to his knees, taking the jeans down with him but leaving the panties in place. He takes a second to just appreciate the way the ruffles make Derek’s ass look even bigger and bubblier than usual. Then he frames Derek’s ass with his hands just to hear his boyfriend laugh, breathless and bent half over the counter. Leaning in and pressing his tongue between Derek’s cheeks to swipe over his hole just to hear Derek’s laugh stutter to a halt is just as satisfying.

 

His hands slip under the material to spread Derek’s cheeks so Stiles can get in deeper. His goal tonight is to not take the panties off, and maybe talk Derek into the matching thigh highs they’d bought three months ago. When they make it up to the bedroom. If they do. But in the meantime…

 

“Stiles, Jesus please!” Derek gasps as Stiles swirls his tongue. He pulls back, the lace almost black with his saliva, and nuzzles Derek’s tailbone.

 

“Did I say you could talk?” He teases, nipping Derek’s left cheek as he pulls both sides of the panties up, wedging the material in Derek’s crack so he can get a real good look at his boyfriend’s ass cheeks. Stiles knows he’s probably stretching the hell out of the leg holes, but too fucking bad. Stiles will buy Derek a dozen more because this is definitely becoming Stiles’ new favorite thing when Derek wears these particular panties.

 

Stiles stops for a moment to consider what to do, scratching absently through the dark hair on Derek’s thighs. Finally, he decides yeah, fuck werewolf healing. Stiles is going to give Derek a hickey to last the rest of the night.

 

Derek has started to shift from foot to foot, so Stiles decides to put him in his place again. He bites down on Derek’s right ass cheek harder than is strictly necessary and hears the satisfying noise of Derek’s head dropping onto the counter. It pulls Derek’s body away from his mouth as he falls the rest of the way over the counter, but Stiles follows as he sucks at the skin, bathes it with his tongue.

 

“Jesus,” He hears Derek gasp again as Stiles pulls off to survey the damage nearly five minutes later. There’s a perfect impression of his teeth and the skin in the center is already turning from vivid red to purple. Stiles knows he only has about fifteen minutes max before the mark is gone, which means he has to work fast.

 

Stiles pulls the back of the panties down just enough to get at Derek’s hole, memorizing the breathing whimpers his boyfriend makes as Stiles’ tongue sweeps in long, flat strokes against the tight furl of his hole. One of Stiles’ hands has spread Derek’s cheek, giving him more room to work. The other is pressing hard and insistent fingers into the mark Stiles has left, trying to make it a little worse, make it last a little longer. Stiles works the tip of his tongue carefully into Derek’s hole, starting to stretch him in time with Derek’s pulse fluttering under Stiles’ finger.

 

Derek is making high, needy little sounds by the time Stiles notices the mark on Derek’s ass fading like it’s already a week old. Stiles leaves him with a light scrape of teeth, then a slap to the unmarked cheek when Derek tries to push his ass backwards.

 

“What did I tell you about moving?” Stiles snaps, not waiting for an answer before getting to work resurrecting the hickey all over again.

 

“Jesus!” Derek growls after Stiles drags it out for ten long minutes, and he would pay to see Derek’s eyes flashing red in that second as he struggles to stay good for Stiles. “What are you trying to do, give me a tattoo with your teeth?”

 

“Maybe.” Stiles admits because that’s actually a thought he’s had before. The tattoo, not Stiles’ teeth being the method of application. “Are you complaining?”

 

“No,” Derek admits as Stiles stands up. He’s glaring over his shoulder, but Derek’s hands haven't moved so Stiles leans over to kiss the back of his boyfriend’s neck before easing him up and helping him maneuver out of his jeans.

 

“Good. “ Stiles presses another kiss to the tattoo Derek already has and reaching down to palm his cock. The tip is already wet and straining so hard at the lace that it looks faintly purple. “Because I am _far_ from done with you.”

 

“I really, really hope so.” Derek huffs as Stiles pulls his panties back into place with a snap.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles grins and grabs Derek’s hand to lead them both up to the bedroom. “I have been a bad influence on you.”

 

“Probably,” Derek agrees with an easy grin as Stiles pushes him back onto their bed and goes for where they keep the lube stashed. “You gonna tell me why you decide to jump me in the kitchen?”

 

“The sight of you happy and relaxed and wearing my favorite panties while half naked isn’t enough?” Stiles asks as he settles between Derek’s thighs and mouths along the shape Derek’s cock makes against the tented blue lace.

 

Derek’s answer trails off into a snarled groan while Stiles sucks the head of his cock. The bitter taste of cloth dye and precum is a welcomingly familiar sensation on his tongue. It’s not really a blowjob, but between Stiles’ careful sucking and his fingers tweaking Derek’s nipples, his boyfriend is soon writhing against the bed.

 

“Ah...S-Stiles! Do you ever...plan on actually fucking me?” He pants.

 

Stiles pulls away from where he’s sneaking his tongue under the material and glances up. “Would you like to file a complaint?” He asks, reaching for Derek’s knees and pushing them up towards his chest.

 

Stiles loves how flexible his boyfriend is. When Derek opens his mouth, he’s panting again. “Yes, actually. Formal complaint: Boyfriend is taking too long to fuck my brains out. Unless addressed, I will retaliate by not blowing him for two weeks.”

 

“Harsh.” Stiles pouts, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Derek’s panties and pulling them up to tangle round his knees. Close enough, it still counts for his not taking the panties off goal. “Now be a good boy and stay still while I stretch you, or I might risk that retaliation over all.

 

Derek curses softly, his hands shooting up to catch around his thighs when Stiles lets go, putting him delightfully off balance. Stiles reaches for the lube while openly ogling Derek, but his boyfriend is staring daggers at him and Stiles can bring himself to torture Derek any longer.

 

Derek is already relaxed from being rimmed earlier and the first of Stiles’ fingers slips in with no fuss. They’ve done this often enough that maybe Stiles doesn’t need to be quite so thorough anymore, but he likes taking his time with Derek. Love lavishing his boyfriend with all the affection that Derek deserve, which was quite a lot in Stiles’ book. Derek’s never complained, not really. And soon Derek is letting out moans, groans, and other happy noises as he rocks his hips down on Stiles’ finger.

 

“Stiles! Ah yes, fucking finally…” He moans. Derek had been so quiet when they first got together, and Stiles never stops feeling a rush over how much Derek has managed to relax and let go, how much he’s learned to trust Stiles since.

 

And when Stiles presses a second finger inside, Derek makes the prettiest little noise and reaches one hand out to him. How is Stiles supposed to resist that?

 

Stiles falls into the kiss and swallows Derek’s groan as he begins to stretch his boyfriend slowly and methodically. Stiles could probably find Derek’s prostate in his sleep at this point, but looking is half the fun so Stiles likes to go slow, stroking along Derek’s walls until he reaches just the right spot.

 

Derek whines, hips jerking as Stiles brushes over that spot over and over, and draws back so he can slip a third slick finger into Derek. Stiles settles on his side next to Derek, kissing his boyfriend’s neck while Stiles spreads and twists his fingers. Derek’s cock is leaking against his abdomen and Stiles is almost tempted to get Derek off just like this, milking his prostate until Derek breaks and knots the air, cumming all over himself.

 

Something must give him away because Derek risks unbalancing himself again by snapping his hand out to grip Stiles’ arm. It could be so much tighter because Stiles can see red flickering in Derek’s eyes and the teeth he has clamped around his lower lip are starting to sharpen.

 

Stiles huffs out a laugh and leans in to kiss the corner of Derek’s mouth, murmuring apologies as he pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the comforter. He’ll change the sheets later.

 

Derek watches Stiles lube himself up with smoldering eyes, and Stiles has to lean in for another kiss because how can he not?

 

Stiles sighs as he hooks his fingers in the panties again, tugging them off so he can settle in properly between Derek’s legs, though he does leave them hooked around one of Derek’s ankles. Again, close enough.

 

Stiles grips Derek’s hip with one hand and guides his cock in with the other, gritting his teeth at the sensation. Even after five years together, everything still feels just as intense as the first time. Better, actually, because now they _know_ each other, know every spot and angle and moment.

 

Derek is panting; eyes squeezed shut as he adjusts to Stiles’ cock. Stiles is in no hurry, so he stretches out of Derek’s chest, pressing their skin together everywhere he can reach. He doesn’t even bother to kiss Derek for the moment, just nibbling his jaw and twining their fingers together.

 

It doesn’t take long before Derek is whining and twisting his hips. Stiles grins and pulls Derek into another kiss as he starts to thrust, slow and thorough as he draws almost all the way out. It’s not their usual rhythm and Derek is bucking his hips up into the space between their bodies in an attempt to get Stiles moving.

 

“Stiles,” he hisses, “I swear to god if you don’t start fucking me I’ll--”

 

Stiles grins and gives Derek’s hands one last squeeze before straightening up. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll rip something important off with your teeth. But you forget, I like those fangs on me.”

 

Derek has a remark on the tip of his tongue, but Stiles hooks one leg over his shoulder and the other on his elbow to spread Derek open. He pushes forward, fucking into his boyfriend with short, hard thrusts. It isn’t a position he can keep up for long - sex with Derek is an athletic activity, but Stiles doesn’t have the muscle mass even now to keep up for too long - but it’s worth it to see the way Derek’s eyes roll back and his hand shoots down to grip the base of his cock, squeezing around the knot forming there. Stiles wishes he could get a hand around Derek instead, but all his coordination is going to keeping up their pace.

 

Stiles twists his head and starts nibbling anywhere he can reach. It gives Derek a little counterpoint of pain to focus on, and when Stiles starts working on a hickey low on Derek’s thigh, the moan that spills from his mouth is straight out of the best kinds of pornos.

 

Stiles thrusts slow gradually and he twists his hips at the end of each one until a choked gasp tells Stiles he’s found the perfect angle. He works the spot with short, hard thrusts that send the bed smacking against the wall. Stiles’ name is falling from Derek’s lips; sounding more like a curse than anything and his hand is still squeezed tight around his knot.

 

That really just won't do, so now that Stiles can risk taking letting Derek’s leg drop off his arm, Stiles slaps his hand away and takes Derek in a slightly looser grip, letting his thrusts fuck Derek up into his fist.

 

The next curse breaks off into a moan and Derek grips Stiles’ shoulders hard enough to leave claw marks. Stiles loves watching him fall apart like this, his big bad sexy Alpha letting himself go. In this moment, nothing quite exists apart from the places their skin blurs together and the way the bed creaks under them.

 

Stiles curls forward and flicks his tongue over Derek’s nipple, and his hips stutter for a moment when Derek keens. “You ready to cum for me?”

 

Derek mewls, beyond words now, and when he looks at Stiles his eyes are red and slightly unfocused. But he manages to nod and Stiles leans down to kiss Derek again. He doesn’t look away as he straightens up, one hand still firm around Derek’s cock while the other spreads him open. He fucks hard into Derek, the burn of his muscles nothing compared to the punched out shout of Stiles’ name that bursts from Derek’s lips as his knot swells fully under Stiles’ hand and he begins shooting long, thick ropes of cum over his chest.

 

Just the sight is enough to make Stiles’ eyes go blurry and he buckles, barely catching himself with a hand on the bed as he rolls once, twice more into Derek before cumming so hard his vision goes white.

 

When he finally manages to blink and focus his eyes again, Stiles finds Derek a sweaty, fucked out, grinning wreck. They’re both covered in cum and sweat but Stiles can’t really be bothered to give a shit at that point. Moving very carefully so as not to slip out of Derek, since he knows his boyfriend likes for Stiles to stay in as long as possible, Stiles flops down next to Derek and curls up so they’re back to front once more. He trails his lips over Derek’s neck, waiting for them to both work up enough brainpower for words again. Finally, Derek turns his head to nuzzle Stiles.

 

“Worth the wait?” Stiles asks, shifting just enough so he can kiss Derek.   
  
“Absolutely.” Derek grins back.

 

 


End file.
